7
Regrets
Moma and I treated my boyfriend and my dad to the sound of dueling violins. Mine sounded more like an electric guitar mixed with a synthesizer. I glanced at my dad. He was still smirking at the fact that I still played the violin. That was kind of why I never posted any tracks of my own. “If you’re going to stare at me, you can just leave.”
“Sorry.” My father threw up his hands. “I’m just surprised.” He smiled a sweet, fatherly grin. “I can remember when your mother put a violin in your little four-year-old hands.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t even a child-sized one.” I remembered the relic that my mother forced upon me. She wanted to make me cultured, to give me a musical skill that would allow me to be a lady.
My father pursed his lips, hiding a visible laugh. “You didn’t let that sto
